The Stranger
by ckofshadows
Summary: During a Warblers trip to Cincinnati, Kurt and Jeff sneak off to visit a gay nightclub, where a brooding stranger takes an interest in Kurt.  Can Blaine rescue him in time?
1. Chapter 1

"Let's give another round of applause to Dalton's own... Warblers!"

The boys stepped forward and took a group bow, grinning and waving to the crowd. The Dalton alumni invitational concert in Cincinnati was an annual affair, but it still drew hundreds of attendees every year. The school used it as an opportunity to raise money for the arts program.

"Encore!" an alumnus shouted, and the rest of the audience joined in as they clapped. "Give us one more, boys!"

Wes and Blaine locked eyes, and smiled at each other. Wes cocked an eyebrow, and Blaine laughed. The fundraiser had netted over one million dollars for Dalton, to be used to refurbish the seats in the theater. It seemed there was only one song that fit the occasion. Thad saw the exchange and caught on, taking out the pitch pipe and blowing a B. The group formed a casual semi-circle around Blaine, building a backup before he broke into the opening line of "Bills Bills Bills."

Kurt swayed back and forth like the rest of the boys, singing dutifully and avoiding eye contact with Blaine. It had been nearly a week since Blaine's sexuality crisis (or, as Kurt liked to think of it during his bitchier moods, Blaine's Attempt at Bi-Winning) and the friends had barely spoken since.

As the song reached its end, the alumni rose to their feet, applauding enthusiastically. The Warblers made their way off the stage and into the crowd. Most were seasoned schmoozers, having been raised in high-class society. Kurt hung back, though, observing the throngs from afar.

"Ever see so many trophy wives in one room?" came a voice beside him. He turned to see Jeff standing there, smirking. "Must be a world record."

"They are beautiful," Kurt intoned. "Have to wonder, though, where all the trophy husbands are."

Jeff huffed out a humorless laugh, folding his arms and leaning against the wall as they people-watched. "Trophy husbands? Oh, Kurt, that would imply that Dalton has gay alumni. No no, that would just be uncouth_._"

"Right." Kurt rolled his eyes. "So what happens to all us gay students, then? We don't get to be alums?"

"Didn't you know? Dalton doesn't have gay students, it has _gugs._" He motioned to Blaine, who was standing with a middle-aged couple, nursing a glass of ginger ale and chatting amiably. "Case in point: Blaine Anderson. King of the gugs."

"What's a gug?"

Jeff made a derisive sound. "It's a phenomenon mostly found in single-sex schools. When faced with the sudden absence of the opposite gender, students start directing their raging teenage hormones at one another. It's a move born of desperation, and in the heat of the moment they mistake it for sexual preference. Once they're out of school, they come to their senses and go back to heterosexual bliss. Thus the acronym: Gay Until Graduation, or gug."

"Blaine's gay."

"For now. I heard he went out with a girl last week."

"If you can call Rachel Berry that. She has a mannish way about her." Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Blaine's crisis aside, in two years' time you won't be able to say there aren't true-blue queer Dalton alums. I'll have graduated by then, and I'm about as flaming as they come."

"Oh really," Jeff drawled.

"Really."

"You're sure about that."

"No phase here, my friend. My first crush was on Prince Eric, when I was five."

Jeff laughed at that. They watched as their classmates moved around the room, exchanging niceties with well-dressed couples. "Me too, by the way."

"You liked Prince Eric?"

"No. I mean, yes, but I was saying I'm gay too. Until graduation and beyond, to paraphrase Buzz Lightyear." He turned to look at Kurt intently. "Listen... after the festivities wind down, we're allowed to go out and explore Cincinnati for a few hours. We don't have to be back at the hotel until midnight. Most of the Warblers usually get ice cream and see a movie, but if you wanted..." His eyes darted around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. "... I know a place where we could go."

"What kind of place?" Kurt asked slowly, his brows furrowed.

"A gay nightclub. It's called Kinks."

Kurt sucked in a long breath. "_Kinks_?"

"I discovered it last year by accident," Jeff said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I caught sight of this hot guy and started following him – for no reason, really, it's not like I would have worked up the nerve to talk to him – and eventually he ducked into a side alley and went through an unmarked door. The bouncer looked me over and let me in, and..." His face took on a dreamy expression. "Greatest night of my life."

"What was so great about it?"

"Uh, a huge club filled with hot, sweaty, horny guys? Really? Tell me you don't want in."

Kurt felt his face flushing. "I don't know."

"What don't you know? It's not like this opportunity comes along every day. You live in _Lima, _for god's sake."

"I know, but those clubs can be kind of sketchy."

"That's why we'd go together. Safety in numbers, isn't that what they taught us in kindergarten?"

"I think that lesson was about crossing the street, not visiting gay nightclubs."

Jeff leaned closer. "You don't have to hook up with anyone," he said earnestly. "You really don't. But think about it, Kurt – an entire room full of gay men. Men who don't hesitate to hold hands or kiss in public. Men who are proud of who they are." He gestured at the crowd in front of them. "Wouldn't you rather be in their company, rather than a room full of gugs? Wouldn't you like to spend just one night _not _being different?"

Kurt bit his lip, wrestling with indecision.

"Look," continued Jeff, "I'm not going to force you to do something that makes you uncomfortable." He checked his watch briefly. "It's eight o'clock now, and this schmooze-fest will last another half an hour, at least. At nine sharp, I'm going to head out for Kinks. If you want to join me, come by my room and we can go together. I'm in room 428." He gave Kurt a significant look, then disappeared into the throngs of people.

After another several minutes of watching his peers mingle, Kurt finally stepped forward, weaving his way through the crowd. He reached the doorway of the performance hall and exited without a glance backward. There was nothing back there for him.

He made his way up to his room. A Dalton alum had sprung for their stay in the hotel, and it was Kurt's first time staying in a place that nice. He ran a hand over the linen bedspread appreciatively and was idly considering making use of the jacuzzi in the bathroom when a knock sounded from the door.

He smirked a little as he went to open it. "What happened to not forcing me–" he broke off in surprise, seeing that it was not Jeff after all. "Oh. Hi."

"Hey," Blaine replied. He had taken off the Dalton blazer at some point, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow. Between that and his slightly disheveled hair, Kurt thought he looked good enough to eat. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing much. You?"

"Just left the shindig downstairs. How come you didn't stick around?"

"It's... not really my scene," Kurt said finally. "Did you have a nice time?"

Blaine's face lit up. "It was amazing. I got to meet Congressman Inglesby and we talked for a long time. He said he takes a couple of Dalton boys as interns every summer, and told me I should apply. Isn't that crazy?"

"Crazy."

"He and his wife were just so nice–"

"Did you tell them you were gay?" Kurt interrupted, studying his fingernails.

Blaine's mouth fell open in surprise. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I... no, of course I didn't."

"Ah."

"Why on earth would I tell them I'm gay?" Blaine asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Right, of course you wouldn't," Kurt said airily. "After all, there's no telling when you'll meet another girl in a fugly dress who makes you question who you are."

There was a long pause, as Blaine stared at him. "If I'm at an event where I meet a congressman, and he asks me about what classes I like, there's not really an opening for me to tell him that I'm sexually attracted to men," he said slowly, through gritted teeth.

"And if there were an opening? You would have volunteered that info?" Kurt knew he was pushing it, but he couldn't help himself.

"Ralph Inglesby has a proven record of supporting gay rights," Blaine said furiously. "That's why I wanted to meet him. That's why I'd consider being an intern for him." He ran his palm over his hair, making a noise of frustration. "How long, Kurt?"

"How long... what?"

"How long are you going to punish me for what happened with Rachel? How long is this freeze-out going to last?"

Kurt just looked at him. He thought about the room downstairs, filled with successful men with lovely women on their arms. He thought about a room full of proud gay men, dancing and kissing and sweating and grinding. He thought about gugs, and Blaine.

"At least one more night," he said, and closed the door.

He sat on his bed until he was sure Blaine had left. Then, he grabbed the pad of hotel stationery, scribbled a quick note for his roommate, and left.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt perched stiffly on the edge of Jeff's bed in the hotel room, watching as his friend used a blow dryer to style his freshly washed hair. Too many emotions were roiling in his stomach – unease at what their impending visit to the nightclub might bring, guilt over betraying his father's implicit trust in him, anger at Blaine and his new best friend the congressman, terror at what the grown men at the club might think when they saw him–

"Don't chicken out on me now," Jeff said, smirking at him from the bathroom doorway. "You will never regret making the decision to go tonight. I guarantee it."

"I don't even have anything to wear," Kurt replied despairingly.

Jeff laughed at him, putting the blow dryer away. "The outfit you have on now is perfect."

"This?" Kurt looked down at himself. "Uh... I'm fairly sure a Dalton uniform is not the standard attire at a place called Kinks."

"When I showed up there last year, that's what I was wearing. It was like I fulfilled the schoolboy fantasy of every single guy in the club that night when I walked in the door." Jeff sighed dreamily. "They practically lined up to dance with me."

"That's all that happened? Dancing?"

Jeff took out a tube of black eyeliner, expertly applying a bit to his upper lash line. "It doesn't matter what happened. Because it's _your_ decision what happens to _you_. If you want to dance with the guys, then dance with them. If you don't want to, then don't. You're overthinking it."

Kurt supposed that dancing – or more – should have been the main draw of the club for him, but in reality, he just wanted to watch the men interact. The only gay adults he'd ever witnessed first-hand were Rachel's dads, and he rather hoped that they were not representative of all gay men. "I'm not going to drink."

"That's cool."

"Or dance."

"Cool too." Jeff capped the eyeliner and winked at his own reflection in the mirror. "Look, I know I'm telling you how incredible it's going to be, but you do have to keep your wits about you. I think we all know what happened around this time five years ago."

"Five years ago..." Kurt stared at him blankly. "I started entering puberty?"

"No, dumbass. The name Ricky Mitchell ring any bells?"

His face froze. "Yes," he breathed. Kurt had been twelve when Ricky Mitchell's name made headlines all across Ohio. The openly gay high school senior had disappeared during a night-time excursion with friends in Cincinnati. A month later, he was found wandering the streets alone, naked. The police never released details of his ordeal, but the press spent months speculating anyway. Although Kurt hadn't been out of the closet when the case was in the media, he remembered following the story almost obsessively, desperate for details about the boy's condition. "What does Ricky Mitchell have to do with this?" he asked.

"The night he was abducted, he and his friends went to Kinks." Jeff met his eyes squarely, as Kurt shook his head incredulously.

"No way, screw this, I'm not ending up another Ricky Mitchell–"

"That's my _point_, Kurt, if you go into it and you're smart about it–"

"They never even found the guy who did it to him, Jeff. He's still out there." Kurt stood, folding his arms around himself. "I don't think you should go. This is a bad idea."

"Listen." Jeff stood in front of him, taking him by the shoulders lightly. "A lot has changed in five years. For one, Kinks has full-time security guards, and their only job is to protect everyone at the club. Every guard has a composite sketch of the guy who took Ricky, and they know what they're looking for. And besides, those kids went into the club already drunk, and they took ecstasy while they were in there. It lowered their defenses and made them vulnerable. You know better than to accept drinks or pills from strangers."

Kurt's fight-or-flight instinct was in full gear, and he was trembling. "Let's just stay in the hotel tonight. We can order room service and watch bad movies. My treat."

Jeff gave him a lopsided smile. "I've made up my mind already. I know the risks, and I know what I'm doing. I'm going to Kinks. You don't have to go – I won't judge you if you decide to stay here. But there's no changing my mind on this, Hummel." He took his hands off of Kurt's shoulders. "The only thing you can control is whether you come with me."

* * *

"So tell me," Alex said, as he dug his spoon into layers of whipped cream, chopped peanuts, fudge sauce and ice cream. "Why didn't you want to go to the movies with everyone else?"

"What, and miss out on these ice cream sundaes?" Blaine admired his banana split, snapping a photo of it with his cell phone before digging in. "I think I've been dreaming of this place ever since we went here last year."

"Uh huh."

"Besides, I don't like horror movies."

"Uh huh." Alex had an amused look on his face. "And it had nothing at _all_ to do with you pumping me for information about Kurt, right?"

Blaine picked a plump maraschino cherry off his dessert and popped it into his mouth. "Okay, that might have factored in a little bit," he grinned, chewing. Alex just laughed, and they ate for a few minutes in silence.

"He chose to room with you for the trip," Blaine said finally, pausing to let some of the ice cream settle in his stomach. "And I think we both know how much he enjoys talking."

"That he does."

"Has he mentioned me at all?"

Alex shrugged, apologetically. "You know I'm not going to betray a friend's confidence."

"I was your friend first!" Blaine retorted.

"Yeah, and I've barely seen you since Kurt transferred to Dalton. At least _he _tries to involve me in things sometimes."

Blaine shifted in his seat guiltily. Alex's words were true; since Kurt's arrival, Blaine had all but abandoned his old Dalton friends in favor of hanging out with Kurt all day, every day. "Look... I'm sorry if I've –"

"You don't have to apologize. I get it; I do. You've never had a close gay friend before. You feel like Kurt gets you in a way that the rest of us never did." Alex shrugged good-naturedly. "It's not like I don't have any other friends. I'm doing fine. I miss hanging out with you, but I do understand." He took a heaping mouthful of ice cream, then swallowed, looking thoughtful. "That being said, it is kind of annoying when you leave us for a new friend and then treat the poor guy like crap."

"I–" Blaine started to protest, but gave up. "Yeah."

"I know you like him." Alex rolled his eyes when Blaine looked startled. "You may be able to fool him, but I've known you too long. You sit up straighter when he's around. You do that flirty thing with your eyebrows, like you used to do with Jeremiah. You take his texts in the middle of class and you blow off school projects just to spend time with him." He shrugged, twirling his spoon in the melting whipped cream. "It must suck for you."

Blaine's eyes softened gratefully. "It does. It sucks."

"I mean, you told me about all the shit you got in school and at home when you came out. And then you came to Dalton, and you never really fit in with the gay crowd there either. And along comes Kurt, and it's like he validated you. As a gay guy. He made you feel like maybe you were doing okay after all."

"I can't lose him as a friend," Blaine said, the pain in his voice surprising even him. "I don't know what I'd do without him. He's always getting mad at me over the littlest things. And when you're friends, well, it just blows over after a while. But when you're dating... If we dated, and he got mad and broke up with me, I'd lose him. And be all alone again." He shook his head earnestly. "I'd rather watch him date someone else than risk not having him in my life at all."

Alex didn't say anything. He was looking out the ice cream parlor window. Blaine turned to look too, and caught sight of Kurt and Jeff, walking down the opposite side of the street together.

"You'd rather watch that?" Alex said at last.

"They're not–" Blaine didn't finish, because in truth, he had no idea what Kurt and Jeff were doing together. He watched the two boys make their way down the street, then turned back to his ice cream, not noticing the man who was trailing behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

"We're getting close," Jeff said, surveying the area. "The entrance was in one of the alleyways around here."

"Maybe it moved, or got closed down," Kurt replied, fervently hoping that they wouldn't be able to find the club. He was feeling more and more uneasy about the whole situation. "You know, it's already nearly ten o'clock. Even if we found the place, we'd barely be able to spend an hour there before we'd have to start heading back to the hotel to make our midnight curfew. Maybe we should just call it a night, and–"

"Hold up. Do you hear that?" They both paused, and the dull thud of a bass became more audible. "Oh yeah, we're definitely close." Jeff started walking faster now, following the sound of the beat with excitement.

Kurt had to hurry to keep up with him. Logically, he knew he could still bail. He could turn and run, and get back in plenty of time to snuggle up in his hotel bed, phone his dad to say good night, and then catch the opening monologue on Saturday Night Live. But the thought of Jeff going into Kinks alone, with no one to look out for him, was too frightening an option. The abduction of Ricky Mitchell might have happened five long years earlier, but it still weighed heavily on Kurt's mind. The boy's abductor had never been caught, and although it seemed unlikely that the guy would still be going to the club, Kurt knew it was a possibility. And Jeff, like Ricky, was young and a little wild.

He set his jaw firmly, following Jeff into a side alley. They caught sight of a line of men standing behind a velvet rope, waiting. A tall, muscular man in leather stood at the head of the line, in front of an unmarked door, staring straight ahead.

"That's it," Jeff gasped. "Oh god, this is going to be epic. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

It occurred to Kurt, as they approached the bouncer, that neither he nor Jeff had fake IDs. Perhaps the bouncer wouldn't let them in. They wouldn't stand a chance of passing for twenty-one even if they _hadn't _been wearing their Dalton uniforms. The bouncer, though, just looked them up and down, nodded, and opened the door for them, letting them bypass the waiting line completely. Jeff grabbed Kurt's hand and dragged him inside.

Kurt wasn't sure what he had expected. A gay nightclub with a name like Kinks brought to mind certain subversive, stereotypical images. Leather, chains, whips. Maybe some masks and cages. Instead, from what he could see, this looked like most of the straight nightclubs he saw on old episodes of Sex and the City. The only difference, of course, was that only men were there. Hundreds of gyrating, sweat-drenched men, most of them shirtless. Kurt felt his jaw drop open as he looked around.

There were several levels to the club, revealed in bits by the blue strobe lights that flickered across the huge room. The music wasn't overly blaring, but the bass level was just insane. It was sensory overload, and he felt himself swaying on the spot.

Jeff was already throwing flirty smiles toward a couple of guys on the dance floor. "I'm going in. You coming?"

"Ah, no. Think I'll find a table."

"Suit yourself!" He ran into the middle of the pack, and Kurt lost sight of him almost immediately.

Awesome.

Sighing, Kurt headed for the stairs. He could see small round tables set up on the second level with a good view of the dance floor, and figured he could keep tabs on his friend with aerial surveillance. Most of the tables were empty when he reached the landing, so he snagged one right by the edge of the balcony. It didn't take long to spot Jeff; he was the only one dancing with a blazer on. There was already a circle of men around him, dancing with him provocatively. Kurt leaned against the railing, feeling impossibly young.

"Excuse me."

He turned around, startled, and saw a fit college-aged guy standing there. "Um, yes?"

The guy grinned at him. "Care to dance?"

"Oh. No, no thanks."

He looked back at the dance floor. Finding Jeff again in the blinking strobe lights was a little harder this time; he'd lost his blazer and was dancing in his dress shirt and pants, with his tie loosened.

"May I have this dance?" he heard behind him.

"No thank you," he called firmly.

This was not what he had hoped for, back when he and Jeff had discussed going to the club. He wanted to see self-confident gay men, sure, but not this frenzied sort of meat market. He could practically smell the testosterone hanging thickly in the air around him.

"Hi there."

He looked up to see a man his father's age slip into the chair next to his, leering at him. "I don't want to dance," he told the man, trying to calm the rising panic in his chest.

"That's fine," the man said, reaching out to squeeze Kurt's knee. "I'm sure we can find other ways to occupy ourselves."

Kurt was frozen with fear. The man's hand was moving up his thigh, and he didn't know what to do. He thought of Blaine, suddenly, and how stupid he'd been to be mad at him. Every kid went through a questioning period and – "Stop," he gasped, as the man's hand reached the top of his thigh.

The man leaned closer to him. "I know a place where we can–"

"Hey, sorry I'm late," came a loud voice next to the table. Kurt raised tear-filled eyes to see a tall, handsome brunette in his twenties sit down in the chair across from him. "I got caught up at the gym, and then Aunt Lorraine wanted me to stop by and take a look at her car. The engine's been making funny noises." He smiled warmly at Kurt, then turned an appraising eye on the older man. "You're not bothering my little brother, are you, buddy."

It wasn't a question, and the man didn't take it as such. He removed his hand from Kurt's thigh quickly, as if his palm had been burned. "We were just talking," he said weakly.

"That's terrific." The guy's expression bore a dangerous warning. "Take a walk."

To Kurt's relief, the man got up and left at once. Kurt swiped at his eyes with his sleeve, embarrassed and shaken. The guy across from him surveyed the dance floor kindly until he was more composed. "Thank you," he said to the guy. "For saving me."

"You know, it's funny. If I'd said I was your boyfriend, he would have challenged me. But nobody ever dares to stand up to a big brother." The guy met his gaze finally, and smiled at him. He had floppy brown hair and dark brown eyes, and Kurt found himself smiling back, charmed. "I'm John. What's your name, little brother?"

"Kurt," he replied, feeling a blush creep across his cheeks.

"You here to watch?" John asked.

"I came with a friend. Wanted to keep an eye on him."

"Which one is he?"

It took much longer this time to catch sight of Jeff, who was now dancing in just pants and his tie. "The blond one with the ring of guys around him."

"Ah." John sat back in his chair. "You're not one for dancing, I take it?" Kurt shrugged, and John smiled again. "Me neither."

"Then why come to a dance club?"

John's eyes seemed to grow darker for an instant, but then he smiled widely, and Kurt was sure it just had been a trick of the light. "Well, initially I had this romantic notion that I'd meet my soulmate here. And after that didn't happen, I just kept coming back. Became a habit." He leaned forward a little, and Kurt found himself leaning forward, too. "I'd be happy to sit with you while you look after your friend. I can keep the skeezy men away, for the most part."

Kurt was reminded of Blaine again, and how protective he could get. Sometimes it felt nice to be protected. "I'd like that," he said gratefully.

They watched Jeff dance in a companionable silence, for a long time. Finally, John said, "Okay, I have to ask. What's with the Catholic schoolboy outfit?"

Kurt laughed, and they began to talk.

* * *

"They're not dating," Blaine said, as they meandered back toward the hotel.

Alex smirked. "So you keep saying."

"Jeff's totally not his type."

"Oh really? What's Kurt's type?"

"He likes All-American guys. You know... handsome, preppy. Tall and noble."

"Tall, huh? Guess that takes you out of the running."

Blaine scowled. "Jeff's too much of a trouble-maker. He's always breaking the rules. Kurt's not into that."

"And yet they sneaked off together without telling anyone. Doesn't seem like rule-following to me."

"They're _not dating_, Alex. Kurt would have told me if they were."

"Okay, they're not dating!" Alex raised his hands in mock surrender. "But let's be honest – you two haven't exactly been on speaking terms lately. You don't know for sure. And didn't you just tell me you'd rather stay friends and watch him date other guys, than risk dating and losing him?"

"Yes," Blaine said, his scowl fading into a sad frown. "Just... not Jeff."

"How about another guy, then? I've heard Tony likes Kurt."

They were walking more and more slowly, as they drew closer to the hotel. "I don't know how to do it," Blaine said at last, in frustration. "Logically, I know I should be supportive. I know it's wrong for me to not want him to date anyone else. But–"

"You're right. It is wrong." Alex looked at him steadily. "For what it's worth, I think you two would be great together. But if you're not willing to let that happen, then you can't keep begrudging Kurt the chance to be with someone else."

Blaine gave a melancholy nod. They entered the hotel lobby, and got on the elevator in silence. Alex got off on the third floor, after wishing him a good night. Blaine rode up two more floors, then stepped out, heading for his hotel room. His roommate was still out at a movie, so the room was dark. He stripped off his blazer and lay down on top of his bed, staring at the ceiling. He took out his cell phone to see if he'd missed any calls or texts. He hadn't.

Sighing, he turned on the television set and found an old rerun of Friends. He was just settling against the headboard when he heard footsteps running down the hall. Then a loud knock pounded on his door.

"Blaine! Blaine, open up!"

Springing to his feet, he hurried over to the door, throwing it open. Alex was standing there in a panic, holding Kurt's note in his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

"When I got back to my room, this was on my bed," Alex said, thrusting the paper into Blaine's hand.

Blaine lifted the note up to read it aloud. "_Hey Alex – Jeff and I are going to a nightclub called Kinks. We'll be back by curfew. Don't worry. – Kurt_." He looked up at Alex, his eyes wide with shock. "A nightclub? Called _Kinks_? What are they thinking?"

Alex shook his head. "Last year, after the alumni concert, there was a rumor going around that Jeff had snuck off and gone clubbing. I didn't take it seriously at the time; I figured there was no way any bouncer would let a sixteen-year-old into a club. But now I'm not so sure."

His brows furrowed, Blaine darted back into his room, pulling out his laptop as Alex followed. He logged into the hotel's Wifi, and opened a browser window. "Let's see if we can get the club's address off of Google." He typed in 'Cincinnati' and 'Kinks,' then frowned at the results. "That's weird. It's just giving me news articles about Ricky Mitchell, that kid who was kidnapped and tortured–" He broke off, looking horrified. "They went to _that _club?"

"Get the address," Alex said tersely. "We've got to get them out of there."

"Try calling them in the meantime," Blaine said, as he tried searching for the club's address.

"Tried already. Neither of them is picking up."

The Google results were a bust: Kinks' address was a secret, and none of the websites seemed willing to reveal it. The only clue to its vicinity was a tweet they found on someone's Twitter account, which read, "got so plastered at kinks last night i stumbled for 2 blocks before puking in front of st francis xavier lol #rockbottom." Blaine was able to find the address of a church in Cincinnati called St. Francis Xavier. He scribbled the address and cross streets down on a sheet of paper, then grabbed his key card as he and Alex bolted from the room.

* * *

"Stop!" John bent over, clutching at his stomach as he shook with laughter. "You're making this up!"

"I am not!" Kurt was laughing, too, delighted by how interested John was in all of his stories.

John wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "So let me get this straight. The two of them went to see Love Story, _in costume_, and they both recited the female character's dialogue? And your friend Rachel _still _thought the guy batted for her team?"

"And this from the girl who was raised by two gay fathers," Kurt said, his eyes bugged out for comic effect. He grinned as his new friend continued to laugh. John was fun, and easy to talk to. A quick peek at the dance floor confirmed that Jeff was still down there, so why shouldn't Kurt enjoy himself a little?

"How did it all turn out? Did Rachel's feminine wiles lure Blaine over to the heteros?"

"No," Kurt replied archly. "No, she kissed him again when they were both sober, and he decided he was gay again. For now, anyway."

John nodded in understanding. "Ah yes. The 'gug' theory."

"You know about that? I only heard of it for the first time tonight."

"There's all sorts of variations. And on the flip side, you've got the military men who are 'sud' – that's Straight Until Discharged – and the trust fund babies who are 'suits' – Straight Until Inheritance Transfers Safely."

Kurt sighed, feeling bitter. "And then you've got _my_ acronym, F- A-"

"Don't." John's face was suddenly serious. "Don't do that."

"Why not? Practically everyone at my old high school says it."

"Practically everyone at your old high school is an idiot. Does that mean you have to be?"

"I –" Kurt rolled his eyes as he felt a vibration coming from his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone. "It's Blaine again. That's seven calls in the last half-hour."

"Maybe he's taking cues from an Lady Antebellum song."

"I wish."

John hummed as Kurt let the call go to voicemail.

"My roommate Alex called earlier, too. Oh, Gaga, a text message just came through." Kurt read the screen quickly, then groaned. "Blaine wrote, _Kinks? Have you lost your mind?_ Nice to see my roommate can keep a secret. Curfew's not for another hour."

John looked over the crowd of dancing men below while Kurt deliberated how to respond to Blaine's text message. Finally, he tilted his cell phone up, and surreptitiously snapped a photograph of John. In profile like that, he looked like a younger version of Ashton Kutcher. Definitely jealousy-inducing. He sent the photo off to Blaine, with an accompanying message that read, _My new friend and I are doing just fine. Stop interrupting us and we'll do a lot better. _It was more brazen than he'd usually dare – not to mention intentionally misleading – but hell, he'd been spending the past hour chatting up a seriously hot guy in his twenties. Maybe he ought to give himself a little more credit. He and John might be connecting on a purely fraternal level, but it was still pretty cool that he could hold his own with a guy that experienced.

"Hey, there you are." Kurt looked up to see Jeff standing beside them, bare-chested and dripping with sweat. He was still breathing heavily, and looked gloriously happy. "Have Alex and Blaine been stalking you too?"

"Yup. Having fun down there?"

"I just blew two guys," Jeff said proudly. "And got blown by a third."

Kurt's jaw dropped. "You _what_?"

"Well, I figured I'd better hurry up and do stuff. I mean, the guys are on their way."

"What guys?"

"Alex and Blaine. Didn't you listen to your voicemails?"

"They're coming _here_?"

Jeff dropped into a chair, sighing with satisfaction. "Can't find my blazer or my shirt. Totally worth it, though."

"Hey. Focus. They're coming to Kinks?"

"That's what I said."

"You look hot," John said loudly. Both boys turned to look at him, and he huffed out a surprised laugh. "Not like _that, _I mean, like you seem like you could use something to drink." He looked over at Kurt. "You too. I don't know how you've managed to sit here in that collared shirt and blazer all this time. I'm wearing a tee shirt and I'm sweating like a pig."

"A drink would be good," Jeff said. "Jack and Coke?"

"Bottled water," John said firmly, and Kurt found himself grinning at him. "I'll get a round for the table."

"Thank you," they chorused, and watched him walk off.

"Damn," Jeff said. "Did you blow him yet?"

"No!" Kurt squeaked. "What is it with you and blowing people, anyway?"

"It's fucking hot," Jeff said dreamily. "This one guy, whose dad owns the place, I swear he got halfway down my esophagus."

"Okay, too much information."

"Kept calling me his princess doll."

Kurt laughed at that. "And that's a good thing?"

Jeff just hummed happily. "I think your friend is talking about you."

"What? Where?"

He pointed down to the club's ground level. Beyond the dance floor, they could see John leaning against the bar and chatting with one of the security guards. The two men were both looking up at Kurt's table and talking together.

"I think he likes you."

"It's not like that," Kurt said firmly. "Were you serious, that Alex and Blaine are coming here?"

"That's what they said in their messages."

Kurt couldn't bring himself to feel indignant. In truth, he was sort of looking forward to seeing the look on Blaine's face when he saw him sitting with John. He hadn't responded to Kurt's picture text, which probably meant he was reeling.

They watched as the bartender took John's cash and handed him three bottles of water. He nodded a farewell to the security guard before ascending the stairs again and returning to the table. "Here you go, boys, the coldest three bottles they had."

"I'm gonna take mine to go, if that's okay," Jeff said. He threw Kurt a suggestive grin, then ran back down the stairs and into the crowd. They could see him unscrewing the cap of the bottle and pouring most of the water on top of his head as men pressed in closer around him.

"Your friend's a piece of work," John said, unscrewing his own cap. He took a small sip of his water. "You're not thirsty?"

"I am, actually. Thank you." Kurt opened his bottle and took a long swig of water before setting it back down on the table. "These uniforms are not exactly constructed from a breathable material." He looked down at Jeff again, feeling guilty that his friend had managed to sneak off for three separate sexual encounters while he'd been gabbing with John instead of keeping an eye on him. A sharp swear and a sloshy thud drew his attention back to the table, as John lunged for Kurt's suddenly-toppled bottle of water. Despite his efforts, the bottle rolled off the table and plummeted down into the crowd of dancers below them.

John's eyes were wide with apology. "I am so sorry. I accidentally jostled the table."

"Don't worry about it," Kurt said, trying to hide his irritation.

"Here, take mine." John shoved his own water across the table. "It's the least I can do." Kurt hesitated, and John leaned forward. "Please. Otherwise I'll spend the rest of the night feeling guilty. Besides, _my_ shirt's made of cotton. Very breathable."

"All right. Thank you." Kurt accepted the bottle and took another big gulp of water. He noticed how John's eyes lingered on his throat as he swallowed. He flushed, wondering if the older man was attracted to him. Maybe Kurt had been unintentionally been leading him on by sitting with him for such a long time. But no, he reminded himself, John was the one who'd called him a little brother. Surely he was just misreading John's expression.

"How far away do you think your friends are?" John asked casually.

"Oh, at least half an hour," Kurt said. "Why?"

"No reason."

John didn't say anything else, and Kurt continued to sip his water. He wondered what Blaine was thinking at that moment. Maybe he regretted kissing Rachel. Maybe he wished he'd kissed Kurt at the party instead. Or maybe he wished he'd never even met Kurt on that stairwell in the first place. Kurt felt his eyes prickle with tears at the memory of that first day. The song that took his breath away, and the talk afterwards that gave him hope and courage.

He blinked, as the room seemed to slow down around him. "Feel weird."

"Probably just dehydrated," John said, checking his watch. "Finish your water."

Kurt almost reminded him that it wasn't _his_ water at all, but the thought seemed too complicated to put into words. He leaned his head back and chugged the rest of the water. As he set the bottle back on the table, he waited for his head to clear. Instead, it seemed to grow hazier. "John weird feel."

John chuckled. "What?"

"John weird... feel."

"You okay, buddy?"

"Little... brother," he said, his head beginning to feel very heavy. "Weird."

"You look like you've reached your limit," John said, looking amused. "Maybe you should sleep it off at my place."

He tried telling John that he hadn't been drinking at all, but water was technically a drink, and he didn't want to lie. His head rolled forward, and he tried supporting it with his hand, but it kept slipping. "Hand... with..."

"Up you go." John was next to him, suddenly, and draping one of Kurt's arms over his shoulders as he hoisted him to his feet. He half-carried Kurt down the stairs. "You shouldn't drink so much," he said, laughing, as the people they passed laughed too.

"Wasn't..."

"It's okay, I've got you."

The strobe lights and thudding bass were blending into a sort of pulse in his veins as they headed for the door. Kurt thought of Jeff, wild and shirtless on the dance floor. He thought of his father, leaning over an old jalopy with oil-stained hands. He thought of Blaine, and then everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine and Alex sprinted down the sidewalk until they were able to flag down a passing taxicab. "607 Sycamore," Blaine said loudly, when they were halfway into the backseat of the cab. "I'll give you a twenty-buck tip if you can get us there fast."

"You got it." The cab driver stepped on the gas hard as Alex slammed the door shut behind them. The two boys went tumbling from the momentum, but neither was about to complain. They righted themselves and sat tensely side by side as the cab sped through busy streets.

Blaine breathed hard as he stared out the window. Images were flashing through his head rapidly, each more horrifying than the last. He remembered news stories speculating on the kind of torture that Ricky Mitchell had allegedly endured at the hands of his captor, and felt sick to his stomach. Why would Kurt have gone to such a place?

"Hey mister," Alex said, leaning forward to speak into the cabbie's window. "Any chance you could drop us off at a club called Kinks?"

"What's the address?"

"Uh... we don't know. But it's only a few blocks from 607 Sycamore."

"Sorry, kid, there's a lot of clubs in that area. I don't know them all by name."

"Okay." Alex slumped back, disappointed.

Blaine dialed the number for Kurt's cell phone, holding his breath as it rang and rang. His heart sank as the call went to voicemail yet again, and he swore softly before leaving a message. "Kurt, I know you're mad at me, but come on. Pick up the phone. Talk to me. Let me know you're all right. You can't just run off to a nightclub in a strange city and not expect us to flip out. Especially not when it's _that _nightclub." Worry and fear swirled inside of his chest. "Goddamn it, Kurt, why aren't you answering your phone? Have you–" A recorded message interrupted him, telling him that his voice message had reached maximum length and been sent. Clenching his jaw, Blaine set his cell phone down on the seat beside him, only to pick it back up and shoot off a text message to both Jeff and Kurt: _Kinks? Have you lost your mind?_

"I'm trying Jeff again," Alex said, his own cell pressed to his ear. He paused, waiting, then frowned. "Jeff, it's Alex. We know you went to that club, and Blaine and I are on our way there. You're in enough trouble as it is, don't make it worse for yourself. Call us back."

"Maybe they're faking us out," Blaine said as Alex hung up. "Maybe they left that note _saying_ they were going clubbing, just to mess with us. Maybe they're at a coffee shop right now, laughing about how we're–" He broke off as his cell phone beeped, indicating a new text message.

"Tell me that's from one of them," Alex said.

"It's from Kurt!" Blaine leaned forward, relieved. "He sent me a picture text, it's loading..." Suddenly he found himself looking at a photo of a handsome stranger, above the rather pointed message: _My new friend and I are doing just fine. Stop interrupting us and we'll do a lot better. _Blaine handed the cell phone to Alex, then thumped his head down against the cab window, staring blankly at the world flying by outside.

Alex scanned over the photo and message quickly. "Well, they're definitely in a club."

"Uh huh," Blaine said dully.

"He's just trying to get a rise out of you, Blaine. Don't jump to conclusions."

Blaine didn't respond.

"Here we are – 607 Sycamore," the cab driver called back to them, pulling up alongside a curb in front of an old church. "With my twenty-buck tip, that will be thirty-three dollars even." The boys climbed out of the car, and Alex counted out several bills for the cabbie while Blaine stood waiting on the sidewalk silently. Finally the cab pulled away, and Alex turned back to Blaine with a frustrated expression on his face.

"Stop being an idiot."

"You were the one who told me that I should let Kurt date other people," Blaine said, pained. "And now look where we are. He's met someone, and he's interested in him. So explain to me why exactly we're running to his rescue."

Alex threw his hands up in aggravation. "When are you going to wake up, Blaine?" he asked sharply. "This is not just some guy we're talking about here. This is _Kurt Hummel_. The guy who's spent the past five months in _love _with you. The guy who can't shut up about you, even when you piss him off. Because even when he's too furious to speak to you, you're still his _favorite person_. If you actually think he's going to forget about you after meeting some random man in a nightclub, then you're too stupid to deserve him."

Blaine stared at him, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Finally Alex turned, striding purposefully down the street as Blaine trailed behind him. They passed a few elderly couples without slowing their pace. When they saw two middle-aged men holding hands, though, Alex ran up to them at once.

"Hi, we're looking for a club called Kinks. Do you know where we can find it?"

The men exchanged a glance. "You're too young for that place," the taller man said. "Cincinnati has plenty of other options for teenagers. There's a great arcade on Vine Street, or–"

"We need to get into Kinks," Alex said firmly.

The shorter, heavier man shook his head. "Look, we get it, boys. It all seems so exciting at your age. But stuff goes on at Kinks that doesn't make the papers. Bad, bad stuff. Ricky Mitchell's not the only kid who's fallen victim there. He's just the only one who didn't keep quiet about it. It's not safe, and we're not about to–"

"Two of our friends are in there right now," Blaine said, his voice quavering as he stepped forward. "We need to get them out of there. Neither of us has any interest in being in that place. I _promise _you that. We just want to get our friends and leave." He took a shaky breath. "Please. My best friend is in there, and if anything ever happened to him, I'd never be able to forgive myself. Please. Please help us."

The men looked at each other again, seeming to communicate without words. At last the shorter man spoke. "You're just going in to get them?"

"I swear."

He sighed. "Walk two blocks west, hang a right at the laundromat, and it's in the second alleyway on the right."

Blaine took off at a sprint, and Alex hurriedly thanked the men before running after him. They weaved between pedestrians and darted through traffic as brakes screeched and car horns blasted at them. Alex had trouble keeping up with Blaine, who was running faster than he had ever run in his life. By the time they found the laundromat and turned right, the sound of a thudding bass told them they were close. "This has to be it," Blaine said, panting, as they rounded an alley corner and saw a long line of men near a door. They ran up to the bouncer and were surprised when the man let them through the door without a word.

Inside the club, the boom of the bass and the pulse of the strobe lights disoriented them for a moment. "I'll find Kurt," Blaine said. "You look for Jeff."

"No way. We're not splitting up in this place." Alex's face left no room for argument.

They plunged into the crowd, moving across the dance floor and searching for their friends' faces. Everywhere they turned, shirtless men were twisting and turning and sweating and grinding. "Kurt!" Blaine yelled, as they pushed through the crowd. "Kurt!"

"Over here!" Alex hollered, and Blaine felt a rush of relief. He followed behind Alex closely, until they came upon a sweat-soaked, wildly dancing figure surrounded by college-aged men.

Jeff grinned at them, his bangs plastered to his forehead as he waved his arms in the air. "Well hello, boys, welcome to the party!"

"We're leaving," Alex said. "All of us. Where's Kurt?"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, he's fine. Alex, have you jumped aboard the gug train, or–"

Blaine stalked up to him, furious. "Where the fuck is Kurt, Jeff?"

"Jesus, relax, he's on the second level. I'll take you there." Jeff threw an alluring smile at his dance partners before turning on his heel and heading for the stairs. Blaine and Alex were right on his tail. They reached the landing, and looked around.

Every table was empty.

* * *

The low sound of running water and clinking dishes slowly roused Kurt from unconsciousness. He opened his eyes blearily as the memory of Kinks, and of John, swam back into focus. He tasted nervous bile in the back of his throat, and swallowed hard, looking around.

He was in a large, urban loft. The walls were old brick and cement, while the furniture was sleek and modern. On a normal day, he'd appreciate the spare style of the place. On a normal day, though, he didn't wake to find himself tied tightly to a chair.

John was over in the kitchen area of the loft, pouring steaming coffee into two large mugs. He looked over at Kurt appraisingly. "Oh, good, you're awake. How would you like your coffee, Kurt?"

"To go," Kurt said.

John smirked to himself. "Milk? Sugar?" Kurt just stared at him. "Cream? Half and half? Flavor shots?"

"You really think I'm going to drink something you give me?" Kurt asked incredulously. "I think we both saw how well that worked out for me earlier."

John picked up the two coffee mugs and took a sip from one, then the other. "See? No drugs. Just my favorite Hawaiian blend. Sure you don't want anything in yours?" There was no reply, so he carried the mugs over and set one on a small card table to Kurt's right. Although Kurt's waist, shoulders and legs were bound to the chair with heavy rope, he still had enough range of motion in his forearms to pick up the coffee and raise it to his lips, if he chose. "Go on," John prodded softly. "Drink it."

Kurt reached out one hand toward the cup, then forcefully swept it off the table and onto the floor. He watched, feeling satisfied as the black coffee settled on the wool rug beneath his feet.

"It's Scotchgarded," John said placidly. "You're not exactly the first boy I've ever brought here."

And with that, the gravity of the situation finally hit Kurt. A stranger had drugged and abducted him, and no one knew where he was. Jeff was off dancing and servicing random men, oblivious to his plight. His father was back in Lima with Carole and Finn, probably fast asleep. As for Blaine... Kurt closed his eyes briefly. He pictured Blaine in his hotel bed, dressed in an old tee shirt, his hair damp and curly, watching sitcoms and laughing at the bad jokes. The image gave him a brief moment of peace, until he opened his eyes again and saw John still standing in front of him.

Kurt was completely defenseless, and he knew it.

"I'll pour it down your throat if I have to," John said, setting down the other mug of coffee on the card table. "I want you fully awake for what's about to happen."


	6. Chapter 6

"Where is he?" Blaine asked, his heart pounding in his chest. "Where's Kurt?"

"I swear, he was up here all night." Jeff looked around. "He and this hot guy were sitting right over there at that table every time I looked up."

"What guy?" Alex demanded.

"I don't know his name. He was in his twenties, maybe. Dark hair, brown eyes. Tight body."

"When did you last see them?"

Jeff made a helpless gesture. "There's no clocks in here, man."

Alex looked as though he were about to argue with Jeff, but Blaine grabbed his arm. "He's drunk, Alex. Come on, let's check the bathroom."

They took off down the stairs, Jeff right behind them. The men's bathroom was off to the side of the dance floor, near the back of the club. Blaine entered first, then clamped a hand over his mouth as Alex and Jeff filed in behind him. Inside, they could make out nearly a dozen couples in various states of undress. Some were on their knees, others writhing against a wall. Blaine turned to Alex, his eyes wide and pained. "I can't–"

"Kurt!" Alex called out. "Kurt, if you're in here, we'll wait for you outside, but just – just tell us you're in here."

There was no response, and Blaine honestly couldn't say whether he was relieved.

"Hey guys, there's only one way in or out of this place," Jeff offered. His hands were tangled in his hair, and despite the alcohol in his system, he was clearly worried about Kurt. "We should go ask the guys who're hanging out by the entrance. See if anyone's seen Kurt leave."

Alex and Blaine glanced at each other. "Worth a try," Alex said. They made their way back to the main door.

"Excuse me," Jeff said to a couple of men who were chatting around a tall table nearby. "Have you seen a boy about our age – he's got brown hair, blue eyes... well, kind of blue, maybe a little green and gray, almost silvery–"

"Was he dressed like these two?" one of the men asked, gesturing toward Blaine and Alex. "If so, he left not too long ago."

"He's gone?" Alex pressed. "You're positive?" He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, and pulled up a recent photo of Kurt. "This is the boy you saw leaving the club?" he asked, showing the men the picture.

"Definitely," the other man said with a grin. "He was drunk off his ass. His date had to half-carry him out of here."

Jeff paled visibly. "Kurt didn't have anything to drink," he told Blaine and Alex. "The guy he was with bought us some bottled water, but that's it."

"He might have slipped something into Kurt's water," Alex said grimly. "If they left through that door, then the bouncer should have seen them go. Maybe he knows something."

They hurried over to the door and stepped outside, startled by the blast of cold winter air after having been in the sweltering club for so long. The bouncer, a hulking figure dressed from head to toe in black leather, was still standing at the head of the line of men.

"Excuse me," Blaine said to him. "We're looking for our friend. We're told he left not long ago. He might have appeared intoxicated."

The bouncer stared at them, then laughed out loud. "You're kidding, right? You just described every guy who leaves this club."

"He was dressed like us," Alex said. "Can't be too many guys like that." He held up the cell phone picture of Kurt again. "This is what he looks like."

"I don't remember, kid. Sorry."

"What about this guy?" Blaine asked, pulling up the photo Kurt had texted him of the stranger. "He may have been carrying our friend. Do you recognize him?"

The bouncer peered at the photo, and instantly his demeanor changed. "I should've guessed," he said with a scowl.

"What do you mean?"

"That asshole comes here every weekend. He zeroes in on the youngest, hottest guy in the club, and they end up leaving together. And I'm telling you, those guys he leaves with, they never come back. Never. Terrible for business."

Alex looked dumbfounded. "And that never raised any red flags for you?"

"I'm not an idiot," the bouncer said hotly. "I know bad stuff goes down here. But that guy, he's got connections. I tried complaining about him to the head of security, and nearly got my head bitten off. He told me to mind my own fucking business if I wanted to keep this job. So yeah, I stopped noticing when that guy comes and goes. What's the point?"

Jeff leaned forward. "This security guard you talked to – was he bald and really muscular?"

"Yeah, that's the one. His name's Gordon."

"I saw that guard talking to Kurt's guy earlier," Jeff said earnestly. "When he was at the bar buying us the water. They were looking up at us, and I was pretty sure they were talking about us. Or just about Kurt, maybe."

"Like I said," the bouncer nodded. "Connections. If you want to find that guy, Gordon's your best bet."

* * *

The loft was deadly silent, as John and Kurt stared at each other. John's gaze didn't waver. "Drink it. Now."

With an unsteady hand, Kurt picked up the mug and took a tentative sip. The coffee was good – rich and spicy and strong – but he couldn't chase the nagging fear that it might be the last thing he ever tasted. He forced himself to sip it slowly, stalling for time.

"My friend Blaine and I get coffee every day at this place called the Lima Bean," he said. "I like their mochas."

John looked at him suspiciously. "You're saying you want a different kind of coffee?"

"I'm just making conversation. This is fine." He took another tiny sip. "Hawaiian, you said?"

"Yeah, I–" John let out a huff of frustration. "Just drink the damned coffee, okay?"

"I _am _drinking it." He felt the caffeine start to trickle its way through his veins, sharpening his senses. "Can I have some sweetener in it, please? Sweet and Low, maybe?" He watched as his captor strode off to rummage in the pantry, and took the opportunity to look around. The door was thirty feet away. He might be able to hop his way over, but not before John caught him. The ropes were the problem. If he could just find a sharp tool, maybe he could–

"Here." John was in front of him, suddenly, dumping two packets of Equal into his coffee and stirring it.

"Thank you," Kurt said. He waited for John to wander off again, but instead the man took a seat on the sofa opposite his chair. Kurt's mind began to race, trying to find a way out of the situation. He was reminded suddenly of a sweeps episode of Grey's Anatomy, in which a character was held at gunpoint, and babbled about her life until the gunman let her go. Not a bad idea in theory, but Kurt had _already_ babbled about his life to John, back at Kinks. This man knew all about him already – and that hadn't kept him from abducting Kurt. He cocked his head, thinking. Maybe the way out was to learn more about the man himself. "So, are you from around here?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter where I'm from."

"You have an OSU magnet on your fridge. Did you go there?"

John's eyes widened briefly. "Plenty of people like OSU football. That doesn't mean I went there for college."

"You're a big Buckeyes fan, then?"

"Mm-hmm," came the unconvincing reply.

"Who do you like better for quarterback, Helman or Bates?"

"They're both good."

Kurt nodded. "There's no player on the Buckeyes named Helman _or _Bates." John didn't respond, so he pushed onward. "My dad's really into football. I don't really see the appeal, but I like spending time with my dad, so I suck it up and watch the games with him. He comes with me to see national tours of Broadway shows, and I watch Monday night football with him. Sort of an arrangement we've got going. It works for us."

John shook his head. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"My dad expected a different kind of son than the one he ended up with. But he accepted who I am. Because he loves me, and because I'm all he's got. He already lost my mom, and if he were to lose me too–" Kurt drew a shaky breath, trying to hold himself together. He couldn't let his last moments on earth be in this place. He couldn't let the last face he ever saw be John's. "I don't want to die. Not today, not yet. I haven't had a chance to really live yet. Please."

"You–" John made a low sound of frustration. "Who said I was going to kill you?"

"You're not?"

"No. That's not why I brought you here."

There was a flash of pure, dizzying relief. Kurt closed his eyes briefly. He'd see his father again, and Carole and Finn, and Mercedes, and Blaine. They'd–

His eyes shot open. "Wait. So why am I here, then?"

"Finish your coffee," came the grim reply. "I don't want to start until I know you're fully aware of what's happening."

Just as quickly as his fear had ebbed, it returned with a force. He remembered the month Ricky Mitchell had spent in captivity, being brutalized. Maybe death would be preferable to the alternative. He had to make John lose interest in him. "The first time a boy kissed me, it was against my will."

"Can you just shut up and finish your coffee?"

"I'd dreamed about my first kiss with a boy. I'd pictured romance, and dates, and candles. Not a boys' locker room that smelled like sweaty socks." Kurt leaned forward. "He took my first kiss away from me. Please, don't take the rest. I don't want my first time to be–"

John's expression darkened. "Don't you get it yet? You don't get a choice."

"I'm _sick_ of not getting choices," he choked out loudly. "I didn't _choose _to be gay, I didn't_ choose_ to lose my mom, I didn't _choose_ to kiss that disgusting jock–"

"You _chose_ to go to that club," John retorted. "You _chose_ to take my drink. You're not an innocent in all this."

Kurt shook his head over and over, struggling to breathe. "I can't – I can't end up another Ricky Mitchell."

John's eyes flashed dangerously. "You went to Kinks, accepted a drink laced with a sleeping agent, and got carried out by a stranger while no one tried to help you. You're _already _another Ricky Mitchell, you moron." He stood, pacing angrily. "Are you finished with your damned coffee yet? We need to get started."

"Please, don't do this," Kurt pleaded. "Just let me go. I'll never tell anyone about what happened. I'll–"

"Enough!" John yelled. He fumbled with his belt and pulled it off, then yanked his shirt over his head, pitching it across the room in fury.

Kurt stared at him, trembling, then hung his head and began to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

The head of security wasn't hard to find; he was standing by the side of the bar, surveying the club with his heavily muscled arms folded across his broad chest. Alex and Jeff seemed a little intimidated by his appearance, but Blaine strode right up to him.

"You're Gordon?"

The guard's eyes shifted toward him, but the rest of him remained impassive. "Yeah, what's it to you?"

"Where's our friend?" Blaine demanded. "Where's Kurt?"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"That's him," Jeff confirmed, reaching Blaine's side. "That's the guard from earlier."

Blaine's face hardened. He pulled out his cell phone again and showed the guard the photo of the stranger. "Who is this man?"

Gordon shook his head slightly. "Don't know him."

"That's bull," Jeff said. "I saw you talking with him."

"I talk with lots of people in my line of work. Some people ask me for directions to the bathroom, or–"

"You were both staring up at me and Kurt when you were talking."

Gordon looked back at the dance floor. "I don't have any recollection of that."

"He's taken Kurt somewhere."

"Well, I'm sure your friend will turn up."

Alex looked alarmed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Gordon finally looked back at them, a deep scowl lining his face. "Hasn't it occurred to you boys that this is a gay club? Most of these men come here to meet and hook up with someone at the end of the night."

"Kurt said it wasn't like that between them," Jeff replied.

Scoffing, Gordon shot back, "Maybe that's what he told you, but don't you think there's at least a possibility that your friend made a romantic connection with this John fellow, and that's why they ended up leaving here together?"

"_This John fellow_," Blaine repeated, dazed. "You do know him."

Gordon's expression flickered briefly, before his frown returned. "Go home, boys," he said. "You shouldn't be in a place like this. You're far too young."

"We're all older than Kurt," Jeff retorted. "And if we're so young, why did the bouncer let us in without asking for ID?"

"That's not his call," Gordon said. He glanced around uneasily, and saw that the bartender was standing nearby, listening to their conversation. The bartender lifted one eyebrow, nodding, and Gordon continued with reluctance. "There are certain clientele here who prefer... someone on the younger side."

"Meaning underaged," Alex inferred.

"We don't like it," the bartender offered, leaning forward to be heard over the thumping beat of the music. "But it's not our decision to make. The club is owned by an old guy with a gay son, and the son pretty much gets to make all the rules here."

"I met him!" Jeff said suddenly, then stopped and looked embarrassed. "We sort of hooked up in the bathroom."

"He's not alone in his preferences," Gordon said with disdain. "I mean, the vast majority of guys who come to Kinks are looking for other adult men. But there are some very influential sorts who come looking for boys. And the club caters to their predilections."

"And where does John fall on that spectrum?" Alex asked plainly. When Gordon didn't respond to him, he went one step further. "So what role do you play in all this? You help John scope out the crowd, find the youngest kid to abduct?"

"It's not–" began Gordon, before falling silent.

Alex turned to the bartender, then. "Do you drug their bottles of water?"

The bartender's eyes widened. "Whoa whoa whoa, I've never drugged anybody. Don't drag me into this."

"If you know what's happening and you're not reporting it, then you're already an accessory to kidnapping. Our friend is seventeen. I don't think the courts look kindly upon abducting minors, generally." Alex's eyes narrowed. "You know this guy John, don't you."

The bartender shared an inscrutable look with Gordon. "I know him, yeah," he said finally.

"What can you tell us about him?"

"Well, his name isn't really John, for one–"

"Shut up, Tom," Gordon hissed.

"No," The bartender hissed back. "This has gone too far. The drugging and the abductions – I never signed up to be a part of something like this. I'm done."

The three boys looked hard at Gordon. His resolve began to falter.

"Maybe we should just call the police," Alex suggested slowly. "I'm sure they'd be very interested to hear about what is really going on at Kinks."

"Okay," Gordon said finally. "Look, I know where John – I know where the guy lives. I'll give you the address. Just don't get the police involved." At the boys' nod, he grabbed a napkin off the bar and took out a pen, scribbling down an address and apartment number. He started to say something as he handed the napkin to Blaine, but his mouth abruptly clamped shut again.

"Thanks," Blaine said. He turned on his heel and headed for the door, Jeff and Alex right behind him.

Gordon watched them go, then stepped away from the bar. He pulled out his cell phone, dialing a number and holding it to his ear. "It's me," he said. "You've got a problem. The kid's three friends just showed up here looking for him. They threatened to call the police, and well... they're on their way to your place now."

* * *

The boys caught a cab on Vine Street, and sat back nervously as the cabbie drove them to their destination.

"How would the guy bring Kurt to this address?" Alex wondered. "Does he really just carry his victims down the sidewalk to a waiting car? Or does he grab a taxi and throw them in the backseat? How is no one objecting to the fact that a grown man is carrying unconscious boys–"

"Alex," Blaine said weakly. "Please stop."

After that, there was no more conversation.

The address written on the napkin was in an older part of town. The apartment building was mid-sized and brick, with large windows. Blaine looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kurt through one of the windows, but there was no visible movement in the lit third floor rooms. Together they entered the building, noticing with trepidation the lack of a security system. "This had better be the right place," Alex said darkly, as they headed toward the stairwell.

The boys tiptoed up the stairs, their breaths sounding unnaturally loud in the expansive space. They reached the third floor and crept silently down the hallway, looking for Apartment 33. When they drew closer to it, though, Alex stopped short.

The door was ajar.

He shared an uneasy look with Blaine and Jeff, before they moved forward again, more slowly and carefully. Quiet voices drifted out from inside the loft, and Blaine found himself straining to hear if one of them was Kurt's. Finally they were all grouped on one side of the door, tense and waiting.

"Should we just barge in?" Jeff breathed.

"I don't know," Blaine hedged. "What if he's got a gun?"

"The element of surprise could be in our favor," Alex said. "Plus it's three against one."

"_If_ he's the only one in there with Kurt," Blaine pointed out. "What if he didn't work alone?"

They stood silently for a long minute, listening to the faint voices. Finally a gasp and a distinct "Oh my god" drifted out, and the boys' eyes met at once.

They'd know that voice anywhere.

"We storm the place on three," Blaine said firmly. "We all take down the guy and then free Kurt. Agreed?"

Each boy nodded, and then faced the door, waiting.

"One... two... _three._"

Jeff threw the door open all the way, and Alex and Blaine rushed through. They spotted John and Kurt sitting side-by-side on the couch, and sprinted toward them. John was already shirtless, Blaine noted dizzily just before they reached them.

With a wild cry, Alex tackled John, wrestling him to the ground. Jeff was right behind him, leaping on top of John and struggling to pull the man's arms behind his back. As for Blaine, well, he might have agreed to help subdue the kidnapper, but once he saw Kurt, all bets were off. He rushed over to Kurt, pulling him up off the couch roughly and gripping him by the shoulders.

"Are you all right?" he asked desperately, noticing the fresh tear tracks on Kurt's cheeks. "Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Kurt assured him.

Blaine touched his arms, his back, his head, his face. He couldn't seem to stop touching Kurt. "I thought you – god, Kurt, I was so scared."

Kurt sniffled a little. "I was too," he admitted.

Blaine grabbed him hard then, pulling them together in a crushing hug. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and Kurt's pounding a matching rhythm against him. Kurt let out a sob, and Blaine pulled him in even tighter.

"Get off me," came a muffled cry from the floor.

Kurt pulled back from Blaine to see his captor lying face-down on the carpet, with Jeff sitting on his back and Alex twisting his arms together over his shoulders. "Guys, no, let him go," Kurt said quickly.

"Not a chance," Alex said, giving John's arms a good yank.

"I mean it, let go of him," Kurt insisted.

"Did he drug you?" Jeff asked. "Did he kidnap you from that club?"

"Yeah, he did, but–"

"This is normal, what you're feeling," Blaine assured Kurt gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's called Stockholm Syndrome. Victims start feeling empathy for their abductors–"

"No, that's not–"

"Don't believe anything this guy has told you, Kurt," Alex said, pinning John's arms tightly. "You're not the first boy he's ever kidnapped from Kinks. Apparently he grabs a new boy every weekend. His name isn't even really John, and... he..." Alex trailed off, his eyes growing wide as he finally looked down beyond the kidnapper's arms and noticed the man's back. Nearly every inch of skin was marred by thick, deep, fading scars. Alex felt his grip on the man's arms begin to slacken.

"I know," Kurt said softly. "His name is Ricky Mitchell."


	8. Chapter 8

Looking stunned, Jeff and Alex released Ricky. He sprang to his feet, breathing hard and staring at the floor.

"Ricky," Kurt said gently. "Maybe you could make another pot of coffee. I think some of us need it."

The man hesitated briefly before nodding and heading for the kitchen.

"What is going on?" Alex hissed, once Ricky was out of earshot. Jeff shook his head, lost.

Blaine was still gripping Kurt's shoulder protectively. "You're really all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just... a bit shaken up."

"You and me both." Blaine swallowed thickly. "Kurt... I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry for kissing Rachel, and for going on a date with her, and for fighting with you... I'm sorry for all of it."

Kurt took a shaky breath. "I know. I'm sorry too."

"You mean so much to me–"

"You mean so much to _me_–"

"Hey," Alex said loudly. "Not to interrupt your touching moment or anything, but is someone going to explain what the fuck is happening here?"

"Why don't we all sit down," Kurt suggested, squeezing Blaine's hand and leading him over to the large dining room table. "Ricky was explaining everything to me when you three arrived, but there are still some parts I don't understand."

The boys settled in chairs around the table. Ricky appeared with mugs of coffee, setting one in front of each of them. When he noticed Jeff staring openly at his scarred back, he flushed self-consciously, and retrieved his shirt from the floor before slipping it on.

"Is this for real?" Alex asked, once Ricky had dropped into a chair as well. "You're really Ricky Mitchell?"

"Yes." Ricky ran a palm over his face, looking uncomfortable.

"So, what, you went insane after your abduction? You suddenly thought that's how normal people behaved?"

"Alex," Kurt admonished.

"Don't _Alex _me, Kurt. He drugged you, abducted you–"

"I know, but–"

"But nothing. We shouldn't be sitting around drinking coffee. We should be calling the police right now."

"They wouldn't understand," Kurt said weakly.

"Well I don't understand either! Explain it to me. Explain how–"

"You don't know what it's like," Ricky burst out. "One day you're a kid and you're out with your friends, and you have a few drinks, and suddenly you're tied up in some guy's basement while he–" Ricky broke off. "For five weeks. Five fucking weeks of the most brutal rapes, and endless beatings, and the constant threat of having my throat slit..."

Kurt swallowed a sob.

"It's not that we're not sympathetic," Jeff said guardedly. "But, I mean... maybe you should go talk to a therapist or something."

"I have. I've seen more therapists than I can count. There was the one who kept rubbing my back whenever I cried, even though I'd _told _him I didn't want to be touched. There was the one who told me the quickest way to feel better was to develop a new skill or hobby. And oh, my favorite was the one who suggested that the real reason I was so upset about everything was because I'd actually _liked_ the experience and couldn't face the truth."

"Look, it's terrible, what happened to you," Blaine said. "No one's denying that. But you have to find a way to move on with your life."

"I tried. I enrolled at the University of Cincinnati. Went to class, made friends, did all the things I was supposed to do to distract myself."

"And?"

"And then I was walking down Broadway one day and overheard some high school boys talking about sneaking into Kinks. So I went up to them, told them what had happened to me when I went in there. They just told me they'd be smarter about it than I'd been, and went anyway." Ricky tangled his fingers in his hair, looking agonized. "I had to do something. So I started going around to high schools in the area, telling my story."

"That sounds like a good idea," Kurt offered.

"Yeah, in theory it was great. But it ended up being a disaster. I'd tell my story and they'd just stare at me. We tried having question-and-answer sessions. At the first one, a boy asked if I thought those five weeks were God's way of giving me a preview of my life in Hell for being gay. Another boy came up to me afterwards and told me he was gay but that I'd scared him into being straight. No one seemed to understand what I was trying to tell them; that they had to be careful, that there are predators out there."

"Like yours," Blaine said. "He's still out there somewhere, right?"

"Yeah. Still taking boys, too. Not every weekend, but often enough. He's gotten smarter about it. He only takes each boy for one night, and then leaves them in an alley the next morning. They never report it." Ricky shook his head. "Believe me, if I'd had the choice, I wouldn't have told anyone about the abduction either. But it's a lot easier to hide that sort of thing when you haven't been missing for over a month."

"But where does Kurt come into all this?" Alex pressed. "Why take him?"

"So your abductor wouldn't have the chance," Kurt said. "Right?"

"Yes and no. You're his type," Ricky admitted. "You look young, innocent. You didn't notice me following you and your friend for four blocks after hearing you talk about Kinks. And once you got inside the club, you were sitting alone – that's the biggest draw for him. He likes to take his time winning over the boys' trust."

"Then why don't any of them remember what he looks like?"

"It's one of the effects of the drug he uses on them. I don't remember much of anything from the night I was taken."

"But I do," Kurt ventured. "I remember everything."

Ricky gave him an incredulous look. "You think I'd use an actual date rape drug on you? Jesus, Kurt."

"Yeah, no, that would be insane," Alex said drily. "No, no, you just gave him Roofie Lite and brought him back to your place for a jam session."

"The _point _is to have you remember," Ricky said earnestly. He noticed Blaine, Alex and Jeff looking at him blankly, and added, "Do you guys really not get what this is about? Why I take the boys before my abductor can?"

"Enlighten us," Blaine said.

"The talk with the boys on the street didn't help. The speeches in all the schools didn't help. And always for the same reason: everyone thought that they'd be smarter than me if they were put in that situation. I met with the head of security at Kinks, a man named Gordon, and he flat-out told me that boys were still being taken. So I read up on sexual predators, learned how they operate. And one night, I tried it. I approached a high school boy who was being hit on, and pretended to be his older brother. Established trust right away. He took a drink from me within twenty minutes, and we were out of there less than five minutes later."

"So you bring them here in order to scare them straight?" Alex asked.

"Well, not straight," Ricky said. "I'm not trying to scare the gay out of them. I just want them to understand that yeah, they _can _end up in the same position if they're not smart about it."

Alex shook his head. "I don't know, man, that seems pretty freaking extreme. How do you know it even works? Didn't you say the guy is still taking boys?"

"Yeah, but not any of the boys I took. Those boys never come back. I can't save everyone, but I'm saving them, at least."

Blaine leaned forward. "But I don't understand; can't Kinks just ban anyone from leaving with an underaged boy?"

"Nobody seems able to figure out how this guy is able to leave with the boys. They aren't ever seen exiting the building – and with the boys being unconscious, you'd think someone would have noticed."

"So it's an insider," Alex speculated.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Was there any, uh–" Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Was there any, you know, evidence on you? When you were found? Anything that could trace back to the guy?"

Ricky stared back at him. "Are you asking about semen?"

"Well, yeah."

"Let's just say they were able to get more than enough samples of his DNA out of me," Ricky said dully, and the mood in the room changed perceptibly. The reality of Ricky's ordeal suddenly struck them hard, and even Alex looked sympathetic. "He's not in the DNA registry, though, and they can't just force everyone who goes into that club to give samples of their DNA."

"Have you ever seen him again, while you were there?" Blaine asked gently. "The news reports said that the Kinks security guards all have composite drawings based on your descriptions of your abductor–"

"Those reports were wrong," Ricky said. "The only thing the guards have is my description of what my abductor _sounded _like. He kept me blindfolded all the time. Never told me his name – just had me call him Sir. I met with Cincinnati police every few months, whenever they thought they had a new suspect, but it never did any good. How was I supposed to identify him? Have them all stand in a line and take turns calling me their princess doll?"

Kurt felt his blood run cold. "Wait, what?"

"That's what he used to call me," Ricky said, looking ill. "When he was... you know. If I didn't struggle, he'd praise me and call me his princess doll."

Kurt looked across the table. Jeff was staring back at him in horror.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun warmed the back of Kurt's neck as he walked across campus. May had been unseasonably warm that year, and Dalton's headmaster had graciously allowed the students to forgo their usual blazers in favor of dress shirts with rolled-up sleeves and loosened ties. Although the look was far less put-together, even Kurt joined in once the temperature reached the mid-80s. He loathed sweating even more than he loved fashion.

And that was saying something.

He waved to a group of his classmates who were playing Ultimate Frisbee on the Quad. They called out to him, asking if he wanted to join them, and his incredulous laugh gave them enough of an answer. They just smiled at him good-naturedly and continued their game.

Dalton had grown on him. _Like a fungus, _Jeff would say. Kurt had finally gotten used to being himself there. And his fellow students had embraced him; even the stodgy Republican boys seemed to view him as an amusing curiosity.

The Warblers, especially after the Kinks debacle back in February, had grown protective of him. David had developed the irritating habit of giving him noogies when he thought Kurt was being particularly endearing. Kurt, in turn, learned to carry a travel-sized bottle of hairspray for those occasions. He could have told David to stop, he supposed, but there was something nice about feeling _liked_.

His reverie was broken as he looked across the Quad and caught sight of a tall, lone figure leaning against a car in the visitors' parking lot. A smile spread across his face, and he strode toward the man eagerly. "Ricky! Hey!"

Ricky smiled back at him, watching his approach. "Hey yourself, little brother."

"Ha ha." Kurt rolled his eyes. "When is that going to die?"

"No time soon. Got time for a chat?"

Kurt glanced at his watch. "I've got twenty minutes before I have to be at Warblers practice."

"Perfect. I'll walk you there."

The music building was a five-minute walk from the parking lot, so Kurt turned and led them on a longer tour of the grounds. He had a feeling Ricky wasn't looking to be overheard by passers-by during their conversation. "So," he said. "Any movement on the trial front?"

Ricky nodded, his expression inscrutable. After Jeff had told police about the club owner's son calling him a princess doll – not to mention performing lewd acts on him – investigators had obtained a warrant for the son's DNA. It was a match to the samples collected from Ricky, and the man had been arrested at once.

_Franklin, _Kurt had to remind himself yet again. _Robert Franklin. _After so many years of thinking of Ricky Mitchell's abductor as a nameless, faceless demon, it was easy to forget that he was a real, living person.

A person, but certainly no human being.

"Franklin and his attorney met with the district attorney yesterday. The DA told them he was prepared to seek the death penalty. There's enough charges – kidnapping, false imprisonment, endangerment of a minor, multiple counts of rape and sodomy... and that's not counting all the other boys who've come forward to say Franklin abducted them too." Ricky fell quiet, his hands shoved in his pockets as they walked.

"How do you feel about that?" Kurt asked tentatively.

"He's a monster," Ricky said, gritting his teeth.

"I know."

"He took my innocence. He ruined my life."

"I know."

Ricky looked away. "But."

Kurt nodded. "Yeah."

"The DA called me this morning. Said Franklin's attorney is asking for a plea bargain. If he pleads guilty, he wants life in prison. There'd be multiple sentences, so no possibility of parole. Franklin's agreeing to die in prison as long as he avoids the death penalty."

"And the DA wants to know what you think," Kurt surmised.

"Yeah."

Kurt nodded, and they walked in silence together for a few minutes. "Say they went forward with the trial," Kurt said. "What would it entail for you?"

"Testifying," Ricky said, letting out a long breath. "I'd have to get up on the stand and give all the details. Everything he did to me over those five weeks. I'd have to be cross-examined by Franklin's lawyer, who would in all likelihood try to claim I was a willing participant. He could also possibly find out that I kidnapped boys, too. The trial could go on for years. I'd have to relive it all, over and over again."

"Would it be worth it?" Kurt asked. "To see Franklin get the death penalty?"

Ricky stopped walking abruptly. He raised a trembling hand to his mouth. "Would it be horrible if I said no?"

"No. It would be completely understandable."

"People would think it meant I–"

"Stop," Kurt said firmly. "People know you were his victim. You're _still _his victim. I don't think there's a person alive today who wouldn't sympathize with your wanting to avoid reliving all that. And if there were, well, screw 'em. There's no point in worrying about what other people think of you. There's far too much more to life than that."

Ricky's eyes were bright. "Like what?"

"What?"

"What is there to life, Kurt? Because I've spent the last five years focusing all my time on this... I don't know, _vigilante lifestyle_. Every weekend, I'd find and abduct a boy, and for the rest of the week, I'd try to figure out how to catch Sir. I mean, Franklin." Ricky shrugged helplessly. "I haven't been living a life. I wouldn't know the first place to start."

Kurt cocked his head. "What did you like studying when you were in high school?"

Ricky huffed out a laugh. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." They started walking again, ducking under a low-hanging tree as they passed the student center.

"I was a chemistry nerd," Ricky admitted sheepishly.

"Well, that explains how you were able to mix that drug that you used to abduct me and the others." Kurt raised an eyebrow. "So go back to college. Get a degree in chemistry."

"And do what?"

"I don't know. Be a chemist, a pharmacist, a doctor, a professor. Go study in New York, San Francisco, London." Kurt waved his arm expansively. "You have so many options in front of you now. Franklin's behind bars. He's never getting out. You can finally live the life that you had to put on hold."

Ricky breathed deeply. "You make it sound so easy."

"Oh, it's not easy. Not by a longshot. But you're strong, and you're determined. I know you can do it."

They smiled at each other, before Ricky looked up at the building in front of them. "The Alexander Cornelius Worthington IV Music Center," he read aloud. "Wow. That's not pretentious at all."

Kurt laughed fondly. "You get used to it after a while."

A few Warblers passed them, heading into the building. Alex was among them, and nodded to Ricky awkwardly.

Once they were alone again, Ricky asked slyly, "Dare I ask about Blaine?"

"No," Kurt said breezily. "You dare not."

"You forget we're Facebook friends now, Kurt. I saw your relationship status changed in April."

Kurt could feel a blush blossoming high on his cheeks, but he resolutely refused to take the bait.

Ricky's expression cleared, and he sighed in sudden understanding. "Ah. You think I'll disapprove of him. Because you told me all that stuff about him and your friend Rachel. Because we talked about the whole 'gug' phenomenon."

Kurt swallowed, waiting.

"You forget," Ricky continued, "that I was there that night. I saw how Blaine was with you. That wasn't friendship, Kurt, that was... more. He cares about you. How could I disapprove of him?"

Letting out a breath of relief, Kurt nodded. "Thanks," he managed.

"Besides, if he hurts you, I'll kick his ass. What are big brothers for?"

Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Hey Kurt! Hey Ricky!" They both looked over as a familiar grinning figure made his way over to them.

"Hey, Blaine."

"It's good to see you," Blaine said warmly. He shook Ricky's hand, then turned to Kurt. "I'll be inside," he said softly. "Take all the time you need. I'll cover for you." Kurt leaned forward to kiss him briefly, and Blaine let out a content little hum before smiling and heading into the building.

"D'aww," Ricky cooed, and Kurt punched him in the arm lightly. "I'm happy for you. Really."

"I'm happy for me too," Kurt admitted. "It's better than I ever imagined it would be. "

"Are you in looove?" Ricky asked teasingly.

Kurt nodded. "I think I am." He looked over at Ricky. "I know it sounds stupid. We're in high school, and–"

"It's not stupid. I envy you both."

"You'll find someone too. I know you will."

"Yeah. I'm too hot not to." That earned Ricky another punch to the arm, and they both laughed.

"I should really go, practice has begun already," Kurt said finally. "You'll keep in touch?"

"I'll keep in touch."

They hugged a little awkwardly, and Kurt made his way into the building. The Warblers' practice room was at the end of the first floor hallway, and he could already hear strains of their latest song floating down the hall.

He pushed open the doors to the practice room, the music sweeping over him. The group was sashaying back and forth, so he darted over to take his spot. Unfortunately, it was next to David, who apparently found lateness endearing, if the vigorous noogie was any indication. Jeff was soloing, and Blaine was smiling at Kurt as they sang, and Kurt couldn't help belting out the chorus.

_It's gonna be a bright, bright, sunshiny day..._

* * *

The End


End file.
